


Awake My Soul

by Pholo



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Daemon Separation, Hurt/Comfort, Me? Writing about Nureyev's identity issues? HAAAAAAAA, Other, Pholo-typical hand-holding, allusions to abuse (Juno's mother and Diamond), canon-typical suicide ideation, follows the canon timeline but with DAEMONS, space matzah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pholo/pseuds/Pholo
Summary: “If you got to pick, what kind of daemon would you have wanted?”The Martian sun glares down from overhead. Juno has tied his coat around his waist. Hettie hops along at his feet. Great clouds of sand roll over the dunes, faster as the wind picks up. Juno wonders whether Pereyra and the Piranha’s bodies will have been buried yet.“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks at last.Hettie waggles their head to dislodge some of the sand. “You know. What kind of animal would you have picked? For me to settle as.”A Juno Steel daemons AU.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 39
Kudos: 334





	Awake My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Please check the end for credits!
> 
> It's a headcanon of mine that all daemons would be based on Earth animals, since that's where humanity originated. So...Juno's daemon is an Earth bunny rather than a Martian bunny.
> 
> Title from the Mumford & Sons song.

The disinfectant stings. Juno feels Hettie twitch against his side. They’re fitted into the crook of Juno’s bent leg, a bunny ball of defiance to counter Malika’s beady stare.

“Juno,” Rex says. “About your brother.”

“Don’t.”

“I apologize if I pried. I didn’t realize…the topic would be so personal.”

“Good rule of thumb here on Mars, Glass,” Hettie snaps. “Family’s always personal.” Their ears swivel to catch a sound from down the hall. When nothing leaps out at them, the tension drains from their hind legs. They go on: “From the slums to the Mons mansions; the drug dealers to the Kanagawa execs…you want to know what unifies all of us, at the end of the day?”

Rex dabs at Juno’s wound. “Death?”

“Shitty parents.”

“Oh.”

“It’s simple, all right?” Juno says all at once. “I told you ma never killed me. My brother wasn’t so lucky. That’s all.”

Hettie raises a bunny brow. Rex’s face does something odd. The cloth stills against Juno’s arm. Juno catches a flash of color where Malika shuffles her feathers. Under the glare of the hallway lights they seem more blue than black.

A raven. Made sense, with Rex’s fascination with the supernatural. Also looks regal as all hell on Rex’s shoulder—and damn, Juno’s lost a lot of blood…

“I’m…so sorry, Juno,” Rex manages at last.

“I’m not telling you that so you’ll be _sorry,_ ” Juno says. “I’m telling you so that you don’t ask me any more goddamn questions about it.” He swears Hettie presses a little closer against his leg. “Just drop it, all right? It’s done. It’s over.”

“Of course. If that’s what you’d like.” Rex fishes something bulky and metal out from the medical kit. “Now, hold still. The stitches come next.”

He signs his goodbye note as Peter Nureyev and Emerense.

“This can’t be happening.”

“It is, I’m afraid—and I’ve neither the time nor inclination to prove what’s plainly in front of you. Now, put on your coat and give me your keys. We have a long night ahead of us.”

“What, like I haven’t already had one?”

Hettie plants themself between Juno and Nureyev. “Sorry, but we won't be your next con, Nureyev. Tell us where you’re gonna’ take us.”

“Aw, but that’ll ruin the surprise!”

It’s not Nureyev who spoke. A tiny shadow folds down from above. Both Juno and Hettie start as Malika—or no, Emerense—flitters down to rest on Nureyev’s shoulder.

A black moth.

Juno’s mind blue-screens.

“What.”

Nureyev holds out a finger for Emerense to climb atop. “You must forgive the theatrics,” he says. “We didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many surprises at once—”

“You’re _unsettled?"_ Hettie cries. "What are you, twelve?”

“We don’t much like to dwell on our age.” There’s a swirl of white and black as Emerense transforms. She pounces onto the floor as an Arctic fox; Hettie shrinks back, ears flat on their head. “And anyway, any more of this dawdling and we’re going to be late.”

“You still haven’t told us where we’re going,” Hettie points out.

Emerense has already started for the door. “Where else? To get your next Martian artifact.”

Juno learns from the long drive that, while Emerense will zip between forms on a whim, she does like to revert back to an Arctic fox. It’s a suitable default, as these things go. From what little Juno knows about Nureyev, he does remind him of a fox—full of tricks and schemes, not to mention all those sharp teeth. Adaptable. And, where the “Arctic” part's concerned, a master of camouflage.

Hettie scrunches themself flat against Juno’s lap, wary of the predator that roams the car.

“Could you stand to be something without giant talons or sharp teeth?” they complain. “That moth was a nice change of pace.”

“I’m not going to eat you, Hettie,” Emerense says, now sprawled out along Juno’s backseat. “And Peter won’t hurt Juno.”

Juno cranes his neck to look at her. “Bit late for that, but thanks.”

“I did offer for you to come with me,” Nureyev says, eyes fixed on the terrain outside.

“Where? Jail?”

Emerense laughs. It sounds like a dog whine mixed with a squeaker toy. “Do you still plan on arresting us, Juno?”

“Do you still plan on committing crimes?”

“Daily and with panache.”

“Then yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I look forward to the challenge,” Nureyev says. His hands don’t betray any tension where he holds the wheel, but there’s an odd weight to his tone. He eases his foot onto the break pedal. “We’re here.”

Juno sits down a few feet from Nureyev and Emerense on the divan, Hettie hunched atop his shoulder. A low, polished table stretches out before them—and beyond that, an armchair filled with Brock Engstrom.

“Velencia,” he says, pointing to the table. “If you would.”

Valencia moves to set up the game. Nureyev—now Duke Rose—hooks one ankle over the other and claps his hands over his knee.

Rose has a cat daemon—“Amirah.” As a lady of the law Juno was expected to learn a great deal about Earth animals—daemon types say a lot about their human counterparts, after all—but he never bothered to research breeds. This cat has brown fur that darkens to black at the muzzle and tail tip. She flicks an ear at Juno and Hettie, and smiles.

Another carnivore. Juno sighs. He decides not to react, and puts his focus squarely on the cards.

They’re in the RUBY7, and there’s a blaster to Nureyev’s head.

Juno has the window seat. Nureyev occupies the middle, with Miasma’s assistant on his other side. The RUBY7 hitches here and there where they hit an air pocket or an updraft; regardless, the blaster stays trained on Nureyev’s temple. He doesn’t move—best not to tempt fate—although Emerense’s tail bobs. She’d assumed the form of a magpie right before Miasma and her goons crested a sand dune; she’s been that way for a while now, perched on Nureyev’s pant leg for lack of room. Hettie stays pressed against Juno’s stomach with their ears pinned back. Juno pets them from the top of their head to the tips of their ears, over and over.

When the RUBY7 had first pulled up, Juno had wondered why the car seemed so… _still_. Empty, even with so many passengers.

It had taken him a while to wrap his head around the fact that Miasma and her assistants don't have daemons.

In the now, Emerense shuffles her talons. Nureyev sure likes his bird daemons. And—maybe Juno was wrong. Maybe, deep down, a magpie suits Nureyev better than a fox. Something about stealing shiny objects, and not being tied down to anything or anyone.

Juno’s the exact opposite. Rabbits are ground animals through and through, bound to their warren from birth to death. It makes sense for Juno to die out here, buried under the Martian sands. Not Nureyev, though. He belongs up there, amongst the stars. Far, far away from the stupid blaster pointed at his head.

Juno trusts him. They’re also both about to die. Those two truths spin circles around Juno’s head, so fast they blur together like light trails on an old camera.

“Juno,” Nureyev says. Dares to say, a finger-twitch away from death.

A hand brushes Juno’s free one. Juno spreads his fingers.

Nureyev’s slot between them as they enter Miasma’s lair.

Juno wakes from a dream he can’t remember. He pats around for Hettie and finds open air. That horrible ache rips through him like a bullet; he curls forward on the floor. Dried blood has glued his right eyelid shut. His head feels like broken pottery.

There’s a “shhh.” Hands wrap around Juno’s wrists. “Juno. Juno, look at me.”

“They took them,” Juno chokes out. It happened days and days ago, but he still feels Hettie's absence like a fresh wound. Miasma might as well have carved out his heart. “They’re gone and I can’t—I can’t _feel_ them—”

“Yes you can,” Nureyev soothes. His thumbs sweep up and down Juno’s skin, along the line of his pulse. “Focus, Juno. They’re right down the hall. We pass them every day. Just feel for them.”

“I—” Juno gasps. He’s not normally one to do as he’s told, but he trusts Nureyev. So he turns his focus outward and _reaches._

For a long, horrible moment nothing happens. Then Juno feels a prickle at the edge of his awareness. Relief crashes over him like a physical blow.

“Fuck,” Juno says. He wrenches his wrists free of Nureyev’s grip, then scrubs a palm over his eyes. It comes away bloody. “That’s…fuck.”

“They’re both all right,” Nureyev says for what must be the hundredth time that week. “Miasma doesn’t know about Emerense. The moment she has the chance, she’ll—”

“What? Hack the door pad and break us out? Take out eleven armed assistants on her own?” Juno laughs so he won’t cry. “Or maybe sneak up to the surface and get help? I know you have a high distance tolerance or whatever, but nobody can manage over—what, _ten miles?”_

“She can still explore the nearby tunnels,” Nureyev says. “Learn the assistants’ habits; where they’ll be and when.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure that’ll all be real useful to us once we teleport through the cell door and find the strength to uh— you know—outrun our captors up a mountain range of tunnels.”

Nureyev looks like he’s about to make a retort—but then he stills. His brow furrows. He’s good enough at what he does that Juno hadn’t even been aware he’d been wearing a mask up until this moment, when something very real and wholly unreadable crosses his face. He stares off into the middle distance for a while, head cocked like he’s straining to hear something.

“Do you feel that?” he whispers at last, eyes still unfocused.

Juno frowns. “Feel what?”

“That…that warmth,” Nureyev says. He makes a messy hand gesture between them on the cot. “Just…focus.”

“On what?”

“Your _daemon,_ Juno.”

Juno’s curious now, so he obliges with only a minimal amount of grumbling. It’s harder for him to find Hettie like this; Nureyev has had years of practice, but ever since… _Ben,_ Juno and Hettie have made a point never to be more than a room apart. Finding them now from so far down the hall takes energy—and Juno's so, so tired.

They do find each other, though. Once again Juno brushes up against a familiar presence; an energy that mirrors his own. Except...

There’s more, this time. More than Juno, and Juno’s soul reflected back at him. Now there’s _something_ that makes Juno’s breath catch, and his chest swell with _something_ hot and painfully gentle. The tears he thought he’d wrestled down start to prick at his eyes again.

“Are they…” his voice comes out horribly strained, and Juno has to start over: “Are they, um…”

“Juno,” Nureyev says carefully. “I…believe our daemons are _cuddling.”_

“No.” Juno shakes his head against the cot. “There’s no…that’s not possible.” Hettie wouldn’t. Not after Diamond. Not after the way Halvern lunged at them. They still have a scar, along their flank…

But the evidence contradicts all logic. Juno can feel the echo of Peter Nureyev’s _soul_ against his chest. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. It feels…wild and brighter than starshine and so, so _warm._

Juno doesn’t know how to do this. He acts anyway, and lays his hand out between them on the cot. Nureyev shoots him a wobbly smile. He takes the hand. Lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss to the ridge of Juno’s knuckles.

Juno shudders. He pretends his eyes aren’t wet and says, apropos of nothing, “You aren’t a magpie, Nureyev.”

Nureyev takes a second to make sense of the comment. Then he says—almost like he’s afraid of the answer—“What am I then, Juno?”

Juno doesn’t respond right away. He feels Nureyev’s hand tighten around his own. Far away, two souls huddle against each other. Right here, Juno scoots closer on the cot.

“I don’t know,” Juno admits at last. “But I think…I think I want to find out.”

There’s a pause. Nureyev lets out a long, shuddery breath. Then an arm settles over Juno’s torso.

Footsteps sound from down the hall as an assistant comes to collect them.

Two weeks later, Juno slips out of bed and grabs his clothes.

He’s fully dressed and at the door before he realizes his daemon hasn’t followed him. Juno turns to look over his shoulder.

The hotel room is dark—that trademark dusky purple of late-night Hyperion. The light from the hotel hallway cuts a glaring stripe down the carpet, catching the edge of the bed. Nureyev is turned towards the wall. Emerense is coiled around his head like a second pillow.

Hettie sits farther down, huddled in the blanket nook formed by Nureyev’s bent legs. They stare at Juno.

Juno doesn’t know what to do. This hasn’t happened before. He tries to wave his daemon over to him. They don’t so much as twitch.

For a while the two hover at a stalemate. A car pulls out onto the road outside. Emerense flicks her paw as she sleeps.

Juno feels his shoulders sag. He scratches his neck and sighs.

He refuses to cry again.

At last Hettie picks up their paws. They slip out from beside Nureyev and edge across the bed. There’s the barest sound as their paws hit the floor. Then they cross to Juno at the doorway.

Juno pretends he doesn’t hear a tiny “Juno” as he closes the hotel room door behind them.

“If you got to pick, what kind of daemon would you have wanted?”

The Martian sun glares down from overhead. Juno has tied his coat around his waist. Hettie hops along at his feet. Great clouds of sand roll over the dunes, faster as the wind picks up. Juno wonders whether Pereyra and the Piranha’s bodies will have been buried yet.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks at last.

Hettie waggles their head to dislodge some of the sand. “You know. What kind of animal would you have picked? For me to settle as.”

Juno tightens the knot on the coat around his waist. “I didn’t really care.”

“Oh, don’t lie.”

“I’m serious. It didn’t matter. _Doesn’t_ matter.”

Hettie huffs. They bound forward abruptly; puffs of sand trail off from where their feet strike the ground. When they’re a few paces ahead of Juno, they round on him. Juno slows to a halt.

All around, the wind howls.

“We’re gonna’ die out here, Juno,” Hettie informs him. “Alone and sautéed with radiation. Can you at least be honest with me while you still have the brain cells? Or am I not worth that to you?”

For lack of pockets to occupy his hands, Juno plants them on his hips. “Hey, come on. You’re me. What’s the point of asking when you already know the answer?”

Hettie’s tiny body radiates tension. “If I already know the answer, then what’s the point of lying?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What do you _want_ from me, Hettie?”

“I want you to say it!” Hettie shouts. They hop right up to his feet. “I want you to admit to me that you wanted a bear or a…a wolf or a tiger or a panther or—something _huge_ and terrifying to protect you and Ben and everyone! And I became _this!_ You’re stuck with a cute little _useless_ bunny and you hate it. You _hate_ me.” When Juno doesn’t respond, they thump their hind leg. “God dammit! Say it, Juno!”

Juno stands there. He watches Hettie’s little chest heave, their ears flicking side to side.

The wind tugs at the coat around Juno’s waist. Sand collects along the folds of his shirt. The air tastes like rust and heat. Still Juno doesn’t move.

Then he falls to his knees. He bundles his daemon to his chest.

“I don’t hate you,” Juno chokes out. He curls further down over them; the wind paints sand eddies around his bent legs. “Fuck, of course I don’t hate you.” A beat. “I’m…I’m scared of you. Did you know that?”

Hettie doesn’t answer, so Juno goes on: “I’m scared of you, because you’re…I mean, you’re who I really am, you know? No matter how hard I try to act big and mean, you’re like this giant neon sign that tells everybody I’m small, and I’m sensitive, and—and I need people around who care about me, and I care so, so much about them and I’m…” his hands have started to shake. Hettie turns their head down against his chest. “I’m _scared_ , okay? To let people…see that. And trust them not to take advantage of me, or…”

He trails off. The desert heat bears down on his back like a physical weight. Juno gulps down a breath, then forces himself to finish: “I don’t want to. I don’t want to be scared of you anymore. But I don’t… _fuck,_ I don’t know what else to be, and…”

“Juno.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to…I never want to make you feel like I—”

“Juno,” they say, more firmly. “Okay. It’s okay.” A pause. “Or, hell, scratch that. Another hour out here and our brains’ll be scrambled eggs. It’s not okay. But…” they rearrange their paws on Juno’s chest. “I could always feel this tension, and I could never understand why, and now I do. So. That’s…”

Juno moves one hand up to scrunch the fur around their scruff. Sand tickles the skin under his shirt collar. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Hettie echoes. “Yeah…”

There’s not much more to say. The two huddle there, stranded amidst the radioactive dunes, and wait.

It turns out Hanatoba stored some food around his hideout. Jacket hands Juno something that looks like a slab of matzah. It takes Juno a while to remember how to take a bite. It tastes about as good as he’d expect.

He and Hettie woke up only a few minutes ago. There’s a dusty blanket tucked over Juno's shoulders now, and a bandage over his empty eye socket. It would take a wrecking ball to dislodge Hettie from his lap. They’ve still got that “whale eye” look about them, their ears plastered to the back of their head. Juno knows he doesn’t look much better.

“Where the hell do I even start,” Juno mutters to no one.

Jacket’s daemon—a big black wolf with a greying muzzle—shifts his head between his paws. He’s stretched out on the floor around Jacket’s feet. “Hmm?”

“Nothing. Just…” Juno takes another nibble of faux-matzah. “I’ve fucked up for so long, I guess. Hurt people ‘before they could hurt me,’ or shut them out ‘to protect them.’ Sabotaged myself because I didn’t…feel like I deserved to be alive, or to be happy. And now that I’ve decided to actually uh, live?” He snorts. “I don’t know where the hell to start. Whether anyone would or—or even should give me a second chance. Whether I could ever…” Juno adjusts the blanket on his shoulders. “Hell. I don’t know.”

Jacket doesn’t look up from his bread. “Perhaps you will never be forgiven.”

“Oh gee, thanks a bunch big guy—”

“But. You will still be able to be better. To do good.”

“Will we?” Hettie asks dully. “It’s like every time we try, we only make things worse.”

“You reunited Buddy and Vespa, did you not?” Jacket says. “That would not have happened without your help.”

Juno has to pause at that. He opens his mouth to respond, but forgets the words somewhere between his head and his throat. He looks down at the bread, and then at Hettie, and then back at his bread.

He takes another bite. His chest feels lighter as he and Jacket finish their meal.

The next time Juno sees Peter Nureyev, he’s called Peter Ransom.

His choice of daemon keeps Juno up at night. A coyote: the adaptive scavenger who hunts alone. Paired with the last name—a token from Nureyev's fateful heist on New Kinshasa—Juno suspects Nureyev has set up this persona as some kind of cruel reminder to himself. A threat of what happens when Peter Nureyev dares to step outside his loner role.

It’s not Juno’s favorite form, to say the least. Once at some ungodly hour he goes to grab a cup of water from the kitchen, and Nureyev’s there with “Gisela.” The daemon stares at Hettie the whole time Juno fills his mug, less like they're a tasty morsel and more like they're a rival apex predator.

Nureyev had already turned Juno down for a real talk that afternoon, and he’s not about to push his luck. It doesn’t feel right to leave without some kind of acknowledgment though, so Juno shuts off the tap and says, “Uh. ’Night.”

Nureyev’s lip twitches. Juno doesn’t know what he’s even doing up. He’s sat at the table, but he hasn’t prepared any food or tea for himself. He doesn’t even seem to have his comms on him.

At last he says, flatly, “Goodnight, Juno.”

Juno leaves feeling like he’s spoken to a ghost.

Things change. After they steal the globe. After Juno apologizes.

Block by block, the barrier comes down. Somehow Juno and Nureyev end up next to each other at the breakfast table. Hands brush when they pass each other on their way down the hall. Nureyev brings Juno hot cocoa on a bad brain day. Once, long past midnight, Nureyev calls Juno on his comms—says he can’t see him right now, but would Juno please talk to him?—and Juno goes on about Mick and Sasha and the Old Town sewers for what feels like an hour.

It becomes a habit, for Juno to come down to Nureyev’s room at the end of the day. To talk; to sit together.

Maybe Juno hasn’t been forgiven. Not yet. But he’s gotten better, and he can still do good by Nureyev. So he does his best.

“I might have…come across something. While researching you.”

Juno pauses. Looks up from his comms. “Yeah?”

Nureyev’s at the head of the bed, back up against the wall. His legs are bent to support a tablet; Emerense, an Arctic fox once more, lies draped across his ankles. He gives one of those smiles that Juno knows belongs to Peter Nureyev, not his mask of the week. “Rabbit symbolism.”

Juno clunks his head back against his own segment of wall. Hettie says, “Oh, here we go.”

“They’re hard workers,” Nureyev soldiers on. “Clever. Highly perceptive. In some cultures they’re even renowned tricksters.” His smile widens. “And…”

Juno uses his free hand to clutch at a pillow. “If you bring up the whole fertility thing I will smother you—”

“Would you prefer the word ‘prolific?’” Emerense smirks.

“I was going to say—”

But then Nureyev stops. His smile falters.

“What?” says Juno.

“It’s nothing.”

“Something about love?” Hettie guesses. “Family?”

Nureyev shifts the tablet on his legs. He says, with a kind of nervous humor, “I…thought you said family was personal.”

“It is,” Juno says. “And…I want to tell you about it. Maybe not right now, but. Soon.”

“I see,” Nureyev says. Emerense has cocked their head to get a better look at Juno and Hettie. Almost like he doesn’t mean to, Nureyev reaches around and scrunches the fur behind her ear. “It...means quite a lot, Juno. That you would trust me with that.”

Juno doesn’t know how to respond. He stares at his comms for a while, unable to process the words onscreen. At his side, Hettie tucks their front paws under their chest. Emerense snorts at their loaf-like shape; the sound shakes some of the tension out of the air.

“Do you think Buddy’s crazy?” Juno asks. “Or do you really think we could become some kind of…crime family?”

Nureyev shrugs one shoulder. “I’m hardly qualified to say what a real family looks like.”

They’re close enough that Juno can bat Nureyev’s socked foot with his own. “What, and you think I am?”

“If none of us can tell,” Emerense reasons, “then I suppose we’ll have to trust Buddy’s judgment.”

Nureyev hums. He shimmies farther down against the wall. He says, almost like he doesn’t mean to, “Do you know…I think I’d like to have a crime family.”

Juno would, too. It shocks him. He’s never dared hope for something like that before—but somehow, the future seems bright. He’s so struck by the fact that for a while he doesn’t notice Nureyev’s looking at him.

Then Juno catches sight of him out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head. “What?”

Juno can’t describe the expression on Nureyev’s face. He’s too scared to be wrong. It does make heart pound, though, and his throat go tight.

“You,” Nureyev says.

Juno manages a chuckle. “Yeah? What about me?”

“You make me want something permanent. You make me want to be someone.”

“Oh,” Juno says, like the wind’s been knocked out of him. He takes a long time to process that. Then, because the other words won’t come: “Oh.”

“Oh,” Nureyev repeats, with mirth. He turns back to his tablet. “Now let’s run through that floor plan one more time, shall we?”

“Juno.”

Juno groans. Scrunches up his face and burrows back under the blankets. “Mghhn.”

_“Juno.”_

It’s no use. Juno stirs. For a moment he’s wildly disoriented, unfamiliar with the gentle smell and weight of the bed covers. Then he scrubs a hand across his face, looks up, and sees Nureyev. He’s crosslegged next to Juno at the head of the bed, haloed by the glow of the day cycle lights.

Right. Nureyev’s room. Juno must have passed out here last night. It’s the first time he’s stayed the night; he barely has time to process the fact before Nureyev reaches around him to the far side of the bed.

He holds up Emerense, now a ferret, like one long furry noodle.

Juno feels his brow furrow. “Um,” he says. “Nice form, Em.”

“She’s a ferret,” Nureyev tells him.

“I can see that.”

“No,” Nureyev says. Then, slower this time: “She’s a _ferret.”_

It takes a while for Juno’s brain to catch up—long enough for Hettie to slump their way onto the covers between them. Then both Juno and his daemon freeze.

“She’s a ferret,” Juno echoes. He feels his heart rate kick up. He surges up against the pillows. _“You’re a ferret!”_

Hettie claps their hind foot against the mattress. “You’ve _settled!”_

“Oh, would you all calm down,” Emerense says, though she doesn’t try to escape Nureyev’s grip. “This is embarrassing enough as it is.”

“Embarrassing?” Juno laughs. “Emerense, this is perfect!” He points at the daemon’s face, careful not to actually touch her. “Look! You’ve even got a little black burglar mask!”

“I know, I’m adorable,” Emerense bemoans.

“This is going to be a nightmare to explain to the crew,” Nureyev says.

“Nureyev, come on,” Hettie says. “We can worry about them in a minute. This is something to celebrate!”

“Is it?” Nureyev sets Emerense down. “I’ve lost my greatest weapon, Juno. My greatest strength.”

“No. No, Nureyev, hey.” It’s the first time they’ve touched like this since Juno left; Juno doesn’t care. He can’t let Nureyev go down this road. He grabs both of Nureyev’s wrists, like Nureyev did for him on the floor of that awful chamber. “Don’t say that. That’s not your greatest strength.”

Nureyev searches his face. Juno gives his wrists a little squeeze. “You gotta’ listen to me, okay? You uh. You remember when you asked me what you were? When we were underground?”

Nureyev pauses. Then he nods.

“Well, I think I know now. I think I’ve known for a while.” Between them, Hettie reclines against the blankets on Nureyev’s thigh. Juno dares to nudge closer. “You’re a master of disguise. A thief. Of course. But that’s all surface level.” Juno’s hands slink down Nureyev’s wrists. He clasps Nureyev’s hands. “Nureyev. From what I’ve seen, deep down? What I’ve felt? You’re protective. Dangerously clever. Endlessly curious. Starved for adventure, and risk. You’re brave as all hell, and even when you’re beaten and…and _buried_ ten miles underground you never, ever give up hope. And you don’t like to say so, but you care about people. You care about what’s right. You want to _do_ what’s right.” He says the next words slowly, with conviction: “That’s your greatest strength, Nureyev. Who you are. Not who you pretend to be. All right?”

Nureyev doesn’t seem to know how to react. For a while he stares at Juno, like maybe he didn’t even hear him. Then he ducks his head. Bows forward.

There’s a tiny, tiny thud as Nureyev’s forehead hits Juno’s shoulder.

Juno starts. He unlatches a hand around Nureyev’s to reach around and hold his back. Nureyev takes his now-free right hand and hooks his fingers onto Juno’s shirt.

Nureyev laughs. He sounds choked up, and Juno’s grip tightens along his back. He rests his head against Nureyev’s on his shoulder.

“You know,” Nureyev says. He sniffs. Gives another laugh. “It _will_ be a little funny, to see the looks on everyone’s faces when my coyote shows up to breakfast as a ferret.”

Hettie chuckles from their spot at Nureyev’s hip. “We should pretend she’s always been this way.”

“One last daemon con,” Emerense says. “For old time’s sake.”

Nureyev seems to steel himself. Then he peels himself from Juno’s grasp. “What do you say, Juno?” he asks hoarsely. Their hands fall away from each other. “How about the four of us have a bit of fun?”

Juno feels his grin widen. “I mean. You were the one who said rabbits were tricksters.”

“Gotta’ uphold the brand somehow,” Hettie agrees, and bounds off the bed. Emerense makes to follow, only to stumble to a halt at the edge. She peers down at the floor.

“Oh, good,” she says.

“What?”

“These tiny legs—”

“I’ve got you,” Nureyev says, and scoops her up. With Emerense pressed to his chest, he sidles off the bed. Juno goes after him. He’s on his feet when Nureyev says, “And Juno?”

Juno looks around the room for his coat. “Yeah?”

A hand alights on his cheek. Juno barely manages not to leap out of his socks. He turns to Nureyev, and then their lips meet.

It’s a quick kiss. Barely a peck. Juno’s whole world stops anyway.

In a second Nureyev tilts back, though his hand lingers on Juno’s cheek. He gives another one of his real smiles. His eyes are wet.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. His thumb tickles Juno’s temple. In the crook of Nureyev’s other arm, Juno swears he hears Emerense snigger. Juno must look as dumbstruck as he feels.

Then Nureyev and his daemon are gone, headed for the door.

“Come along, then!”

Juno stands rooted to the spot as Nureyev saunters out the door, his daemon a bunny statue at his feet. After a long moment, the two turn to look at each other.

Then Hettie snorts. Elation sweeps through Juno like a flock of birds. He and his daemon laugh.

As one, they race after Nureyev.

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by my amazing friend's Merlin BBC daemon AU to make Nureyev's daemon unsettled! [You can check out his fic here;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13983048/chapters/32194689) it's beautifully written and crazily well-researched! LOVE YA' DUDE!
> 
> I was struggling with what to make Nureyev's settled form, so I went to Discord like "WHAT DO I DOOOO!" And [Nidodin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nidodin/pseuds/Nidodin) was like, "How about a ferret?" And I looked them up and went ">8D !!!" So THANK YOU FOR SAVING MY BUTT, NIDO!
> 
> I didn't find an excuse to list the rest of the casts' daemons, but here are my headcanons:  
> Rita: red squirrel  
> Buddy: ruby-throated hummingbird  
> Vespa: anole lizard
> 
> COMMENTS MAKE ME LIKE A SHOOTIN' STAR LEAPIN' THROUGH THE SKYYYY LIKE A TIGER DEFYING THE LAWS OF GRAVITYYYYY ♫
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: [Jitterbug-juno.](https://jitterbug-juno.tumblr.com/)


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